


Hold My Hand

by deadbythursday



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbythursday/pseuds/deadbythursday
Summary: Derek Morgan hasn't had a nightmare since Spencer started sleeping over regularly.Well, not until tonight that is.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 5
Kudos: 210





	Hold My Hand

Derek hadn’t had a nightmare since Spencer started sleeping over regularly.

Well, at least not until tonight that is.

He had meant it when he’d told the kid that they were all plagued by nightmares. Each and every one of them had had a dream where an UNSUB had come after them, or a victim coming back from the grave.

Derek’s nightmares though, Derek’s were different.

Derek’s nightmares were all unwanted hands, unwanted pressure in a place that he was supposed to feel safe.

Derek hadn’t dreamt about him in years, slowly but surely recovering through painstaking means. He’d been in therapy since he could afford it, slowly unpacking the trauma that he took into the FBI with him.

Now though, now was one of the bad nights.

He’d awoken in a cold sweat, panting, those phantom hands still trying to grip at him. If he let himself hesitate, he’d swear that he could hear a voice in his ear whispering about ‘their secret’.

He was going to throw up.

It used to be that Derek’s response to these kinds of dreams, these dreams that made his skin crawl, was to drink copious amounts of alcohol and pray for a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Now though, in the thin light of his bedroom, he could make out the man next to him in bed and suddenly he didn’t want to drink.

He couldn’t risk stumbling back in here, a drunk and vulnerable mess, only to wake up his boyfriend.

Spencer needed his sleep after all.

Instead of making his way to the kitchen then, he opted for the bathroom. If he was going to throw up, he might as well not make a mess.

He didn’t turn on the light, the dark somehow soothing him, and opted to sit on the floor next to the toilet.

The tile was cold through the thin fabric of his joggers, his back pressed against the even colder porcelain of the tub. It was an interesting sensation, given that his skin was flushed with anxiety and a thin coating of sweat.

He tried to breathe, going through the exercises that he’d been given in therapy to prevent panic attacks. He didn’t feel one coming, he just felt a sick sensation in his stomach, but at this point, it couldn’t hurt.

Sleeping was almost completely out of the question at this point, an idealistic end that wasn’t anywhere in sight. The reasons that nights like these haunted him were simply because every time that he’d close his eyes, he’d feel those hands, hear that voice.

There’s something so uniquely human about the concept of nightmares. Sleep was time to rejuvenate, rest, ready oneself for the next day on earth. With nightmares though, anxiety and fear could run amuck in the unconscious brain for hours.

Moments later, Derek’s stomach finally emptied itself.

He heaved into the toilet, feeling the knot of tension ease up a little as he did so. He continued for a few minutes until he was empty, even continuing to throw up nothing for a few seconds after that.

Maybe now, exhausted, sweaty, and empty, he’d be able to feign a few more hours of sleep before their alarm.

Now though, he somehow had to manage standing up to brush his teeth. Standing seemed like such a demanding effort though, especially when his limbs felt so heavy and his head was starting to hurt.

He was in the middle of trying to psych himself up, trying to convince himself to stand, when he heard a small, confused voice say his name.

Fuck.

“Derek?” It came again, a little louder this time.

“Go back to sleep baby,” Derek called back, wincing at how raspy his voice sounded. “I’ll be back in a second.”

In the bests of silence that followed, he almost thought that Spencer actually did go back to sleep. Part of him felt a tinge of relief at the thought, while another felt disappointment. Regardless of his conflicting emotions, there was no such luck, when a pair of sock-clad feet appeared in the doorway.

Silhouetted, Spencer looked ominous. He was so tall, all long, gangly limbs. When he stepped in further though, that’s when the mismatched socks and messy hair came into play.

His eyebrows were knit in concern, his arms wrapped around himself as if to keep warm.

Derek hated that he was responsible for the concern on that face, he was responsible for Spencer not being curled up in bed right now.

Spencer himself already had so many issues with sleeping through the night. He’d been getting better the past few weeks, a few times even managing to fall back asleep after waking up.

The thought of waking Spencer up made him feel nauseous again, guilty.

Those same socked feet made their way over to him, and Spencer dropped down into a crouch to bring them to eye level. He was about to drop a hand to Derek’s knee when Derek spoke.

“Please don’t touch me right now,” he whispered.

Spencer flinched away like a man being burned, cupping his hand to his chest like he was cradling something precious.

Or like he was cradling something injured.

Derek watched the hurt fill his boyfriend’s eyes, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to explain. He couldn’t begin to explain how his skin felt like it was on fire, overly sensitive to even his own touch. It must have been some deep-seared response to trauma, but the idea of someone, even the man he loved most, touching him right now made his skin crawl.

He could see Spencer taking in the sight of him, watching those studious amber eyes flick back and forth. The sweaty skin, the smell of vomit, the raspiness to his voice. To an outsider, it probably looked like a stomach bug, like he’d simply woken up ill in the middle of the night.

Spencer though, with his big, beautiful brain, clocked everything though. The nail marks in his palms, the tremble in his body. Spencer was an experienced FBI profiler, and he knew what he was looking at.

The hurt dissipated from his face, concern taking its place. The hand that at previously been cupped to his chest fell limp, and Spencer Reid was now in Concerned Boyfriend Mode.

He was careful not to touch Derek as he sat, criss-cross, in front of him. It was clear that he was struggling not to touch him, to soothe him, but he shoved his hands in his lap, and instead they sat in silence.

It was strangely comforting. Even without touching, something about Spencer being with him made him feel a little less alone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Spencer murmured, but he was met with a shake of Derek’s head.

“Not tonight,” he rasped, “don’t particularly wanna relive it right now.”

“Okay.”

And then the silence was back. It felt more like a blanket now rather than a heavyweight. There was a safety in that silence.

Derek didn’t need to clarify what it was exactly that he’d relive, he was sure Spencer had an idea of what it was. He remembered working that case in Chicago, or more specifically he remembered reconnecting with his team after the fact. None of them had addressed it, not a single one of them had a look of pity.

They all had their demons, tortuous pasts that the rest of the team didn’t need to know about. They reacted the same way to his trauma as they did when they found out about Spencer’s mom. 

To put it simply, they didn’t react. 

Well, except Spencer. 

They hadn’t been together then, which Derek was grateful for. If his boyfriend had found out about his past in such a way it probably would’ve caused a volatile reaction in him. He remembered that jet ride home though.

They’d been sitting next to each other in silence. One moment Derek had been completely engrossed in his music, with Spencer wrapped up in a book next to him. The next thing he knew, he opened his eyes to find Spencer’s hand had tangled with his own even as the other man didn’t look up. 

It was a small act, but one that said so much. It was every you can talk to me, it was every but we don’t have to, it was every I’m not going anywhere. That small handhold had said everything between them, and it comforted him as no one else could.

This was different though. This Spencer standing in solidarity as he put his abuser in jail, but rather this was Spencer ditting on his bathroom floor to drive the point home. 

I’m not going anywhere.

It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but sometime during however long they’d been there, Spencer moved to sit next to him rather than across. Sometime after that, Derek reaches for his hand.

It was a pretty parallel to that jet ride hand-hold, with the same weight of meaning. They didn’t have to talk about it yet, they didn’t have to address it yet, but rather Spencer could be the silent comfort that Derek so desperately wanted.

Spencer’s hands had always been a focal point of Derek’s attention. His fingers were long and nimble, his wrists were small, his veins were prominent.

Before they were together Derek had thought of those hands many times, he’d wanted so desperately to hold them. Now, he was allowed to.

With Spencer here with him, the tremors eventually stopped. His skin was cold where the sweat had dried, his eyes heavy with unshed tears. Everything in his body was telling him to go back to sleep, to try and soak in a little more rest.

Before Spencer, he probably wouldn’t have. More than likely he would’ve found something to watch on TV, or something equally distracting. He wouldn’t risk being alone with his thoughts.

Spencer was a game-changer though, as usual. The younger man had an air about him that made Derek feel loved, and safe.

Maybe, just maybe, that love could trump the nightmares that plagued him.

“I think,” he said, clearing his throat, “that I wanna go back to sleep?”

“Then let’s get you back to bed.”

They stood, hands clasped.

While Derek brushed the sick away from his teeth, Spencer went to get him a glass of water. Within minutes Derek felt considerably better, and they tucked themselves back away into bed.

Usually, they’d default to spooning, or Spencer would lay his head on Derek’s chest. This time though, their roles were reversed. Spender lay on his back, allowing Derek to rest on his chest.

The steady sound of Spencer’s heartbeat was comforting, the steady rhythm did wonders to relax him.

He could only pray that the nightmares wouldn’t come back to haunt him tonight. He could only pray that in his dreams tonight it’d be Spencer’s hands on him and not someone else’s.

Spencer.

This calm, beautiful man who had been through so much and still managed to take care of Derek. This brilliant mind that had been tormented in so many ways yet still managed to be kind.

Damn, what did he do to deserve him?

Slowly, His breathing leveled off, and his muscles relaxed. The last thing that Derek thought of before drifting off once again, was the love of his life nestled underneath him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, I know that a lot of you guys are still waiting on a new chapter of 'Light', and i just wanted to assure you that it is coming! I had to get this little one-shot out of my brain first and then it's back to editing. 
> 
> With that being said, I also now have a Criminal Minds writing side blog on Tumblr! It's mostly going to lean toward Moreid, and I'll be posting headcanons and other one-shots on it!


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